Good Enough
by sleepy-rebel
Summary: Danny's sick, alone and in need of a friend.  Sick!Danny. Rated T for swearing.


**A/N: Just a quick oneshot to satisfy my need to for some Sick!Danny and a comforting/awesome!Steve. **

**A/N1: If you're following my other H50 story, Fair Fight, I'm incredibly sorry about the delay, but I'm working on posting the new chapter now.**

**A/N2: This is completely un-beta'd so all mistakes are mine.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing recognizable. **

Danny stumbled into his small kitchen, vision blurring and body swaying. The small countertop supported his weight while his hands fumbled around in a drawer to find a dishtowel. When he grasped something that was close enough to what he thought was a towel, Danny reluctantly dragged himself to the freezer. The low watt bulb stunned him and sent a spike of pain from his eyes down through his spine, confirming his deteriorating condition.

Shielding his eyes from the light with his left hand, the other fished around for the ice pack he knew was there in the frosty depths. The groan of relief that escaped his lips once he found his target permeated the absolute silence and darkness of the small apartment.

The next thing Danny knew he was at his pullout bed, sitting himself down carefully and wrapping the towel around the pack with minutely trembling hands. He stole a quick glance at the clock on his bedside table, sighing when the numbers assured him that it was time to call into work and shed insight as to how long he'd been up and in agony. He would definitely not be coming into work today.

Danny's hand went straight to his phone, its exact location always known to its owner. Steeling himself for the onslaught of questions he knew were to arise from his partner, Danny lay back gently, tucking the pack behind his neck.

The backlight on his phone sent wave after wave of burning and spiking hot misery through his head, he had to turn it away from his face, only allowing a few quick glances toward the device to make sure he was pressing the right buttons and not dialing the wrong person. He deftly pressed down on the number three on the phone's keypad all the while praising modern technology and its convenient shortcuts.

The phone only rang once before Steve's groggy voice greeted him.

"McGarrett."

"Steve," he began, pain flaring, "I won't be-"

"Danno, you alright, brah? You don't sound too good."

Danny could almost picture Steve's aneurism face forming. Sighing, he continued, "You don't sound the best either, babe. Rough night?"

There was a short pause, Danny's ultra sensitive hearing noticing a few muffled sounds. "I may or may not have had company over last night," Steve stated almost sheepishly.

That elicited a small smile to grace the detective's face. "Ah… so the infamous Catherine has graced solid ground and apparently your bed. That's …" after a thoughtful pause, "Good for you, Steven. I'm glad _you_ had a pleasant night." Sarcasm dripped from Danny's every word.

Not skipping a beat, Steve quickly retorted, "Danny, why are you calling me at five in the morning?"

Taking a steadying breath, the blonde quietly replied "Not gonna make it into work today." If Steve's aneurism face hadn't been there before, it was definitely there now; Danny almost wanted to laugh.

"What?" Steve retorted, his voice booming. "What's going on?"

The loud timbre of Steve's voice nearly sent Danny over the edge. "Jesus, McGarrett!" he managed at a whisper, "ever heard of inside voices or was that just something that the Army never drilled into your thick skull?"

"Navy."

"Whatever. Just … I'm not going to make it in today. Alright?"

"You still haven't told me what's wrong with you," Steve replied, his worry growing tenfold when he heard Danny's shaky breaths over the line. A myriad of scenarios played through his mind, none of them good.

"Migraine, Steven. You know … a headache on steroids? Humans get them; I have one now," he informed, each word coming out clipped and strained.

"Shit, man, why didn't you just say so? Yeah, no problem Danno. You just … rest up. We've got everything covered. You need anything?"

"Other than a bullet in my head, no."

"That's morose, brah."

"Morose? Really? Well, well, well, look who has a vocabulary at five in the morning," he laughed, immediately regretting the action as it immediately turned his stomach to ice and his head throbbed to the pounding of his heart.

And fuck if he did just whimper.

"Danny? Shit, what's going on?" Steve asked hurriedly.

"Nothing. I'm fine … don't worry." There was another gasp of pain. "…now if you don't mind, I'm going to try to sleep this thing off," the detective mumbled, the pain making him hazy.

"Alright, if you need anything you call, okay?"

"Yes, mother."

With that, the line disconnected leaving a worried Steve to his own thoughts.

Danny had successfully managed to get in almost three hours of sleep before the crippling pain in his head made itself known once again.

He woke up with a start, the quick movement jarring his neck and making black dots speckle his vision until they almost entirely engulfed his eyesight.

To his relief the nausea that usually accompanied his migraines was mysteriously absent, but the pain was a different story. Danny Williams could count on one hand how many times a migraine or really _anything _had pain this debilitating.

He didn't get migraines often, maybe only one or two a year, but since moving to Hawaii they had increased to over four times a year. He was almost positive this one was a result of the stress of Steve's imprisonment; Steve's breaking out of prison, Steve's injury. There was a pattern here he noted. Then there was Kono's IA investigation, and not to mention the whole Rachel moving back in with Stan thing and learning that the baby she was carrying wasn't his.

If that didn't warrant a migraine, he didn't want to know what did.

With a heavy sigh, Danny slowly forced himself up into an upright position. His vision immediately grayed at the edges, the dots returning and his heart hammered in his chest. His mouth was dry and the Hawaiian heat had permeated through into his apartment, making him uncomfortably warm, and the ice pack behind his neck long past cold. It was official, Danny Williams was miserable.

He ran a tentative hand over his face and then started his unsteady path towards the kitchen. The first thing he decided he needed to do was to hydrate himself before dehydration set in. Shuffling to the fridge, warm ice pack in hand, he shielded his eyes from the light once again. He then quickly retrieved a water bottle and placed the ice pack back into the freezer. Danny took a few small sips of the cool water, careful not to over indulge and beckon the absent nausea to return. He knew that he needed to eat something but the thought of food was repulsive and made his head hurt even worse.

The last time he had had a migraine this bad was back in New Jersey and Grace had been only three. Rachel had taken care of him then, making sure he ate, didn't dehydrate and kept the house dark and quiet for him; a feat considering that Grace had been like the Energizer bunny, never stopping and hardly quiet. Rachel had lain in bed with him during the afternoon while Grace was down for her nap, gently carding her cool, deft hands through his hair. Her touch grounding him and chasing the pain away until he fell asleep.

His reminiscing brought on a wave of almost crushing longing. But, that part of his life was over, even if he thought he had had it back again for a while. Rachel was back with Stan and Danny was here in his semi dark, stuffy apartment, alone and hurting. _Pathetic, _he thought to himself, self-deprecating thoughts storming his already overloaded mind.

It was then he realized that he had been leaning against the cool front of the refrigerator, his legs not supporting his full weight anymore. Danny decided then he should probably go sit down before he fell down. He returned to his bed, toting the water bottle along with him. He set it down on the nightstand near his phone, which he had silenced after ending his call to Steve. Picking it up, he noted that Steve had called twice, left two voicemails and texted five times.

Danny would've rolled his eyes if they didn't feel like they were going to implode at any moment.

He put the phone on vibrate with shaking hands, figuring that if he didn't answer the next time Steve called he'd wake up to find his door kicked down and Steve standing over it, with his 'I don't know why you're looking at me, I haven't done anything wrong' face.

The phone was returned to its normal spot and swapped for a bottle of Excedrin. He downed two pills, flipped his pillow over hoping that the other side was cool, and fell into a fitful sleep.

How one could be both hot and cold at the same time always perplexed Danny Williams. The two were mutually exclusive, but yet there he was, a sheen of sweat covering his prone form and his hands minutely shaking.

Though the more prominent question he had on his mind was why the hell Steve McGarrett was inches away from his face.

"Jesus, Steven!" Danny's own voice surprised him, it too soft and too hoarse to be his. "What are you doing here?"

"I've called you six times, you weren't picking up!"

"Remember those inside voices that I talked to you about? Utilize, Steve. Utilize them. Now." Danny groaned, acknowledging the now present nausea.

"Christ … sorry," Steve began, his voice barely above a whisper. "But, Danno, man you look … not good."

"Oh my god, it's like you're a detective," he mumbled grumpily.

Through squinting eyes, Danny saw Steve roll his own eyes and cross his arms over his chest. His face wore a mask of poorly concealed worry and Danny almost felt bad for the guy.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, brah?"

"You wanna help me?" he began, slowly sitting himself up, letting his body get adjusted to the change and riding out the waves of pain that relentlessly assaulted him. "Please, get an icepack out of the freezer. That would be beyond helpful."

It was almost comical the way Steve had jumped at the task. Hardly a moment later, there was an icepack in Danny's hands.

"Thank you," Danny quietly said as he wrapped the pack in the earlier discarded towel.

"No problem, man. I'm here to help."

Danny ran his hands over his eyes and let out a shaky sigh. "What the hell time is it?"

"2:45. I've been calling you since 8 am."

"Yeah, sorry. But when I said I was going to sleep this thing off, I wasn't just saying it to hear myself speak."

"Mark this day down in history," Steve replied, grabbing a scrap piece of paper from Danny's counter and scribbling down a few quick sentences. "Danny Williams, 2:45 p.m, August 3rd, 2011. He did not talk to hear himself speak, let it be known."

"You're a jackass."

Steve grinned while taking stock of Danny's appearance. His friend's eyes were glassy from pain, while dark, sleep deprived circles marred the skin underneath his eyes like bruises. His face was hollow and a grayish pallor. His usually flashy and always moving hands were still on top of his stomach. Danny Williams was completely and utterly exhausted. Steve knew his partner had been running on last reserves the past week, always on the go. It was easily recognizable to him, since had done the same thing after his father's death.

Danny closed his eyes, annoyance clearly etched on his face. He held the icepack against the back of his neck while the other hand pinched the bridge of nose. He was already halfway asleep, but Steve's constant rustling around his apartment kept him on the brink of consciousness.

"Steve, why are you still here?"

"I …" the Seal was at a loss for words, "I … uh … I'm here to help you."

"Go back to work, Steven. I'll survive," Danny replied.

"I don't have to go back, though. Really, man. It's alright. It's been a quiet day and Chin's got it covered."

"All the more reason to be at work and not here channeling Florence Nightingale," Danny countered.

"What?"

"Florence Nightingale, English nurse during the Crimean War."

"I know who Florence Nightingale is, Danny. I mean, why is it you want me to leave so badly?" Steve asked, his face contorted into something resembling sadness and confusion.

"I'm tired, Steve. I won't be doing anything all day from here on out but sleeping. Your highly trained and fine tuned surveillance skills will be wasted here, babe." Fuck, talking hurt. Danny reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, not minding that it was warmer than room temperature.

Steve considered Danny's words for a moment. But then concluded in a shake of his head. "Nah, I think I'm good here. I could go for a nap too."

"If you think you're getting into bed with me …" Danny warned, his eyes once again closing.

"That … thing you call a bed needs a biohazard warning plastered on it. There's no way I'm touching or even going near it, brah," Steve countered as he settled into one of the few chairs that Danny had in his small apartment.

"Mm," came the non-committal response from the bed. Danny gingerly maneuvered himself onto his stomach.

A moment later, the icepack was snatched from his hands and Steve gently settled on his neck. He looked over to his right, a small smile gracing his features and he nodded minutely his thanks. Danny's eyes were heavy, sleep beckoning him, pain making him drowsy and almost lethargic. Steve gave Danny's outstretched leg a quick squeeze, then he settled back into his chair.

Danny may not have what he had in Jersey, no Rachel, and no Grace. But he had his partner, his friend. Danny Williams had someone who cared and that was good enough for him.

THE END.

Thanks for reading!


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